


Reflection

by b_ofdale



Category: Beauty and the Beast (2017)
Genre: (mostly), Canon Compliant, Forgiveness, Gaston is Dramatic, Healing, LeFou's too pure for his own good, M/M, Post-Movie, Scars, Some angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-28
Updated: 2017-07-28
Packaged: 2018-12-07 08:41:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11619987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/b_ofdale/pseuds/b_ofdale
Summary: While Gaston heals from the fall that almost claimed his life, LeFou, hurt by Gaston's betrayal, struggles to come to terms with the aftermath of the battle.





	Reflection

**Author's Note:**

> A few weeks after posting the last part of my 'Aftermath' series, I wondered if I should try to write a Canon Compliant version of a post-movie fic, as 'Aftermath' was set in a Canon Divergence universe in which Gaston didn't act like an asshole towards LeFou in the last quarter of the movie (because I didn't like it, and simply because I hadn't seen the movie yet so I didn't know how to proceed) and I was simply curious to try because my characterization of Gaston changed quite a bit since then (I think?) So... months later I suddenly got inspired, and this is the result, which is set in the same universe as '[He Loves Me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11253513)', in which Gaston and LeFou were a thing before the war.
> 
> Also, this is a bit different from my usual stuff? It's all quite character-driven. It's been a while since I last wrote in this 'style' and I enjoyed it a lot. I hope you will, too! :D
> 
> I'm still not sure whether or not Gaston's characterization is any good, but he's such a complicated character. I'm happy with how it turned out, but I hope it'll be okay as well from your point of view! Enjoy!

_“Do you want to be next?”_

The words kept repeating themselves inside LeFou’s head, swirling around and pounding against his skull, and no matter how hard he tried, he was unable to send them down into his mind, deep enough so that he wouldn’t have to hear them anymore. The worst thing about it was perhaps how clearly he could hear Gaston’s threatening voice speaking them, as though they were both still there at the market place on that warm summer’s night, surrounded by the angry townsfolk; who were ready to take their arms and set aflame whatever would try to stop them. 

He’d never been afraid of Gaston before. He’d only worried for Gaston himself, and the people he might hurt through the blind anger that had been born and bred within him throughout the war. But, afraid for his own safety? Never, never. 

“Always had a short temper, eh, Gaston?” LeFou murmured, almost to himself. It sounded more like a broken chuckle than anything else. 

Putting his hands on Gaston’s shoulders, guiding him out of his fury; helping him find some peace of mind again—it was something LeFou had always done. From the kids in Villeneuve to the men during the war, LeFou had often enough been able to stop Gaston from knocking them down into the dirt when they’d gotten in his way. And, through the years since their childhood and through the rare few times it had happened in Villeneuve, the one thing LeFou had learned was that he didn’t have to be afraid of Gaston’s outbursts of anger, and that he was maybe the only person to ever be able to say so. 

It had always been as though something had protected him—something that made Gaston see him even when his eyes were blinded with wrath, and never had a hit ever been directed at LeFou. 

Gaston had always been his protector, in a way. Starting from the early days of their childhood, throughout their teenage years, and into the war. 

In his own way, LeFou had been Gaston’s, too. 

LeFou never had any reason to fear him.

That had always been true—until recently.

LeFou glanced towards the bed on which Gaston lay. He was holding his hand, waiting there so that Gaston wouldn’t be alone when he woke up. It’d been four weeks since the events at the castle, almost two weeks since Gaston had first woken up. He should have been mad. And he was, he truly was, but he didn’t have the will to show it, not when the more he thought about it, the more LeFou believed it wasn’t truly anger that he felt; it was sadness, and disappointment. All that Gaston had done—so much of it had been wrong, and in a way, it had been fixed by the curse: the Prince had survived the battle, everyone became human again, and many families had been reunited.

Gaston’s actions would never be excused, this much was clear, but at least all had turned out alright in the end.

Well, almost all. There were other things that weren’t so easily fixed.

LeFou couldn’t speak for Belle, for the Prince, for Maurice, or for any of the people who could have been hurt by Gaston’s dangerous, irrational jealousy. But, he _could_ speak for himself. And, the thing was, he _was_ hurt. He was hurt like he’d never been hurt before, and none other than his best friend was the cause for it. 

“I still can’t make sense of it, you know?” he said, and he was surprised by how assured his voice was. “I can’t believe you actually did what you did. I can’t believe you went that far.” He paused, taking in a breath before exhaling shakily. “How could it have been you? The Gaston I know would have never—” LeFou faltered, shaking his head before closing his eyes shut with his right fist clenching on his lap. 

Another breath, another exhale, eyes still closed, and then he let it all pour out.

“I guess I can explain why you acted the way you did. After all, I suppose I do know you enough for that. Though, it doesn’t mean that I accept it. And it doesn’t mean that everything’s alright and forgiven for. But I think I understand what happened inside your head.” LeFou bit his bottom lip and wondered for a second why he wasn’t crying, even though he felt as if his heart was drowning in tears. “But you know what I can’t explain? I can’t explain how you could have threatened me and hurt me like you did. I can’t explain why you left me behind, either. The Gaston I know would have never done that to me. But it was you. _It was you._ So I wonder—did I truly ever know you?”

LeFou opened his eyes again, though he still didn’t look at Gaston. 

“It’s not like you never hurt me before, but—those times, I know those things that you said and did, well, they hurt you just as much as they hurt me. With each word you said, with each look you sent my way, I could see your heart breaking in time with mine. You would never have admitted it, of course; that wouldn’t have been something that you’d have been able to do. You always forgot that though I might not know how to read books, I know how to read you.”

He thought he might cry then, but again, the tears didn’t come. They were bottled up, accumulating themselves until the bottle had begun to overflow—and yet, they still wouldn’t fall. 

One last shake of his head, and LeFou finished, sorrow tinting his voice, “After what happened, well—I’m not sure I can read you anymore.”

Finally, he glanced Gaston’s way. 

His eyes were open, his face closed off despite the pain he was almost constantly in, and he didn’t utter a word. There were so many emotions flitting across his gaze that LeFou didn’t know what to do with them; what to see in them.

His chest clenched painfully at the sight of what his friend had brought upon himself. A broken arm, broken ribs, a broken hip. Angry cuts over his chest, over the left side of his face. LeFou dreaded the day Gaston would see himself in a mirror again. Perhaps, that was when Gaston would need him most. 

It was infuriating how ready he was to be there for Gaston. How, despite his sadness and his anger, he couldn’t bring himself to leave Gaston to face his mistakes alone. He’d always been told he was too kind. He thought that, maybe, it was his greatest strength. Who would he be if he turned his back on the person he loved most? 

No better than what the person before him had turned out to be, for certain. 

Strangely enough, it didn’t bother him that Gaston had been listening this whole time—he thought that, maybe, it was a good thing. This way, there would be no pretending. This way, Gaston would know exactly the way he felt, and wouldn’t be able to pretend that he didn’t. 

“LeFou,” Gaston said. His voice was weaker than it’d ever been. He hadn’t spoken much since he’d woken up. _They_ hadn’t spoken much, except for that one time which hadn’t gone well at all. LeFou closed his eyes. He could tell that this was something he was going to do a lot over the next few weeks. “I’m—”

“Don’t. Don’t say it.” _Not until you mean it._

At that, LeFou teared his hand away from him, stood, and went for the door without a glance back. He walked down the stairs quickly, as though he was scared Gaston would follow him, even though he knew he couldn’t yet stand on his own. Let Gaston think on all of this, he thought. Perhaps, somehow, it would help, and he would be able to hold Gaston’s gaze again.

  


~•§•~  


The first time Gaston saw himself was hard, to say the least. The night that followed was also the first time LeFou allowed himself to cry. Just a tear or two, before he’d wiped off his cheeks and buried his head into the pillow, unable to forget the look on Gaston’s face as he’d stepped in front of the mirror.

He had breathed in sharply, his eyes not leaving his own face. He hadn’t said a word. That had been the hardest part; Gaston watching himself in silence. Before the events of the castle, Gaston always had something to say that displayed, yet again, his undying self confidence. That day, he’d been no more than a shadow of himself, and it had broken LeFou’s heart just a little more. 

“You know I wouldn’t lie to you,” LeFou had said. “For what it’s worth, you’re still beautiful to me.” 

That’s not what made me fall in love with you, though, he had added to himself.

He’d squeezed Gaston’s shoulder, just a bit, to show that he wasn’t going anywhere, though maybe he should have. 

Gaston had raised his hand to his face, hidden it behind his fingers, and quietly sobbed. 

LeFou hadn’t seen him cry since the first weeks of the war, when Gaston had been reminded that, like he had months before after he’d saved the village, he was still just a child in a world he didn’t quite understand yet. Today, it was still a sight that didn’t feel quite right—LeFou didn’t believe there was anything wrong with crying, but over the years he’d come to almost forget what vulnerability looked like on Gaston. 

It had been strange and unsettling, to see it again after so long. 

He’d wanted to help, but he hadn’t known how. Eventually, he’d figured that the best thing he could do was simply being there, like he’d always been. So, he’d left his hand on Gaston’s shoulder to rub slow, comforting circles with his thumb until Gaston’s crying had steadied, and he’d turned away from the mirror without sparing it a glance more. 

They’d sat on the bed, and LeFou proceeded to do what he did best: he told a story. It hadn’t been a story of heroic times and successful hunts—it’d been a simple story of the careless days of their youth, when they thought that nobody and nothing could ever hurt them as long as they were together. The story had eventually turned bitter on LeFou’s tongue, for a day came when being together was what caused them to hurt each other.

Villeneuve was a small village, and like all small villages, it had its fair share of secrets. Gaston and LeFou, well, they had been a secret of their own for a very long time. 

They’d been friends, best friends, and then they had been something else, too. 

Gaston’s father had figured it out, and Gaston had never been the same since. All that they’d been, it was as though it had never existed, but nonetheless, Gaston hadn’t been able to stay away like his father had ordered him to. At the time, LeFou had often thought that nothing could hurt more than that; Gaston coming back to him but pretending they’d never said ‘I love you’ in such a way that made them lean in for a kiss, causing their hearts to flutter.

When LeFou finished his story, he could tell from Gaston’s eyes that he was thinking about the same thing as him. Gaston was smiling just enough to be noticed, and LeFou was glad that he had been of help, even if, in the end, it had been more bittersweet than he had intended it to be. 

They hadn’t spoken after that. LeFou had gone home, and there, he had let himself crumble, just a bit, by the weight of all that’d occurred the past few weeks which had settled heavily upon his shoulders. 

A few days later, LeFou found himself arguing with Stanley. Like many in the village, Stanley didn’t understand why LeFou still cared so much about Gaston after everything he’d done. On top of that, the hurt that LeFou was unable to hide and which everyone could see within him was of no help in changing people’s minds.

“He’s not even apologizing, LeFou,” Stanley said, and the only reason LeFou didn’t turn away and leave was because Stanley didn’t seem to be enjoying anything of what he was saying, either. “Are you sure there’s any hope for him? Everyone knows Gaston only cares about himself.”

“You don’t know him like I do,” LeFou protested, crossing his arms over his chest. “If he wasn’t himself before, he certainly isn’t now.” He paused, heaving out a sigh. “I’m angry at him, Stanley, but I have to believe in him as well.”

With a sigh, Stanley stood from his chair in the tavern. “Fine,” he said, quietly. “But promise me that if he tries to hurt you again, you’ll step away.”

LeFou gave him a weak smile. “I won’t let him.” Then, as Stanley made to leave, LeFou spoke up again, “Do you think it’s foolish to even try?”

Stanley’s answer didn’t come fast, but when it did, it was spoken kindly. “No,” he said. “I think it proves, yet again, that you have a good heart, LeFou.” He gave LeFou’s arm a light squeeze, and smiled down at him. “I also think that you’re right when you say you know him better than anyone else. He didn’t the last time, but perhaps, he’ll finally listen to you.” Stanley shrugged. “He doesn’t really have a choice now, does he? If someone can make him understand, it’s you.” 

LeFou nodded slowly, his eyes getting lost in thought. 

“Hey, LeFou?”

“Hm?”

“Don’t forget to take care of yourself, alright?”

With that, Stanley turned away and left LeFou to his drink, which he emptied in one go, before making his way out of the door as well. Stanley had already disappeared from view, and the streets of Villeneuve were so quiet that evening that LeFou could have thought he was in another world entirely. 

He thought of Gaston, alone in his bedroom, staring at the wall. 

Sighing to himself, LeFou took the direction to Gaston’s home. 

He found Gaston where he’d left him earlier; laying on his bed, back to the door and eyes, LeFou was sure, still set on the wall. 

“Let’s go out,” he suggested. When he got no answer, he added, “Don’t you want to see the stars?”

Gaston huffed. “The stars would be ashamed to see what I have become.”

That made LeFou roll his eyes. If something hadn’t changed, it was Gaston’s tendency to be unnecessarily dramatic. However, it wasn’t so hard to guess there was a real fear behind Gaston’s words.

“The streets are empty,” LeFou said, gently. “No one will see you. Just you and me. Like old times.”

Gaston turned on his back at that. “Old times,” he repeated. “Can we ever get them back?”

“I don’t know,” LeFou murmured. He didn’t want to say it couldn’t be done without forgiveness, and he couldn’t forgive someone who wasn’t sorry. “I want to believe we can.”

“How?”

“It can start with you going with me.”

To LeFou’s surprise, Gaston actually straightened up with a wince. He grabbed his tunic from the nearby chair and passed it over his head, refusing LeFou’s help when he struggled to get his broken arm through the sleeve, but unable to push it away when the time came to stand and go down the stairs; his body was still too weak to let him move freely on his own. 

Gaston still leaned heavily on LeFou as they walked out onto the street. According to the doctor, he would need a few more weeks of rest and healing until he could use crutches instead of LeFou’s assistance. The whole process would be hard and long, but LeFou believed that through all the pain, maybe it wasn’t so much of a bad thing; it left time for Gaston to reflect on his actions and their impact on others, to see that he had gone too far and hurt not only a stranger, but the good people he’d once sworn to protect, and his best friend as well. 

LeFou took him to the main entrance of the village. At any other time, they would have gone up the highest hill and lay near the tall tree of their childhood, but Gaston’s health wouldn’t allow it. They had done this before; sat against the rocky wall, faces turned towards the wilderness surrounding their beloved village. For some reason, adults had never thought of looking for them there, and when they heard their names being called through the streets, it had been easy to run home and to pretend never having left. 

So, they sat there, looking up at the stars, the moon softly shining down on them.

“You’re mad at me,” was the first thing Gaston said. 

“Ah, you figured,” LeFou retorted sarcastically, though he couldn’t help a small, almost imperceptible smile; Gaston had never started conversations on the subject until now. LeFou took it as a good sign. 

“I’m going to tell you something, LeFou.”

LeFou turned to Gaston, giving him his full attention.

“I don’t know why I did what I did.”

“Oh, but I know. It starts with egocentrism, jealousy, and—”

“I mean, I don’t know why I did that to you.”

Instantly, LeFou looked down to his lap, and his hands clenched on each other. This wasn’t a talk he’d expected to have tonight, though he’d been waiting for it for a long time—hoping for it, but dreading it just as much. 

When he glanced Gaston’s way, he didn’t seem angry, though why LeFou had thought he might be, he didn’t have a clue. Perhaps it was because he believed Gaston wouldn’t ever go as far as even accepting the fact that he’d done anything wrong, defending himself instead. It seemed he’d been mistaken, though.

“Do you remember that night, LeFou?”

LeFou’s breath caught in his throat. Gaston’s tone, the unusual, but gentle use of his name—he needn’t ask which night Gaston was referring to.

“Yes,” he breathed. LeFou had looked at him that night, and wondered why he’d been a stranger in the eyes of the Gaston standing in front of him. It had hurt maybe as much as the night of the mob, as though Gaston had taken LeFou’s heart out of his chest and crushed it under his boot. 

“I’m sorry for what I did that night, too.”

“You had no choice,” LeFou rationalized. “You were pretending, and it had to be done.”

Gaston didn’t answer. Instead, he looked up at the sky for a moment, and when he spoke at last, LeFou had assumed they were done for the day. “Still, I hurt you. I seem to be doing that a lot.” Gaston seemed to hesitate before carrying on, probably feeling uneasy by how considerably he was putting himself outside of his usual comfort zone. “Heroes aren’t supposed to hurt their friends, are they?”

“No, indeed they’re not.” Despite his own words, LeFou felt another twinge of hope; this was the result of Gaston’s long hours of silence, thinking deep and hard about the past weeks’ events while having had nothing else to do, stuck in bed as he had been. And, most importantly, it was something he had never done before. 

Gaston had always believed he was doing the right thing; that he could do no wrong, and deserved all the praise and the respect thrown his way. Which had been true, but there were limits to everything, and Gaston hadn’t understood that. 

If anything, LeFou had expected anger to be Gaston’s reaction to what had happened. Perhaps he simply didn’t have the strength to be angry yet—that would have been anyone else’s interpretation, but LeFou understood quite well what was happening inside Gaston’s head. 

He _was_ angry about what had become of him, and he simply didn’t know who to direct it at. As vain and stubborn as Gaston was, even he couldn’t pretend that the Prince had been responsible for the bridge crumbling under his feet. He’d tried to some time after he’d woken up, arguing that he wouldn’t have been there in the first place if Belle had just agreed to marry him. 

That day, for the first time in his life, LeFou had lashed out at Gaston as he’d tried to emphasize how wrong he was to see things in that way. He’d told him that deep down, no one but himself was to blame for stepping out onto that bridge when he should have just left when the Prince had given him the gift of such a chance, and come back to him in the end, unharmed. Telling Gaston all of that without restraint had been peculiar, but strangely liberating as well. 

Gaston hadn’t spoken a word for the four days that followed, until that morning when LeFou had calmly spoken of how he felt, thinking Gaston couldn’t hear him. 

Now, here he was—

“Wait.” LeFou shifted slightly to stare at him as the meaning behind Gaston’s words crept down on him. “Are you apologizing to me?” 

_And sounding like you mean it?_

“You’re the only one who ever cared,” Gaston explained, and his voice turned bitter. “Everyone else—hypocrites. No one cared enough to look for me.” He glanced at LeFou then. “Except you.”

“I was worried,” LeFou said, quietly. “I saw you fall. I was convinced you hadn’t made it, but I—I couldn’t not make sure.”

“Do you regret it?”

To these words, LeFou searched Gaston’s eyes. He’d never seen them so sad. 

“No,” he said. “No, of course not.”

“But you’re still angry.”

“Being angry doesn’t mean I can’t do the right thing too,” LeFou replied. “Anger is not an excuse for cruelty. And it would have been. . . it would have been cruel to leave you there.”

Gaston nodded slowly. He didn’t say anything more after that.

Later, LeFou brought Gaston home, and as he closed the door to the bedroom, he saw disappointment in Gaston’s eyes. It was easy to guess what Gaston had hoped to hear: a few words of forgiveness, surely. And, though LeFou believed in Gaston’s apology, he couldn’t quite bring himself to forgive him so soon—or, at least, he couldn’t yet admit how badly he wanted to.

  


~•§•~  


Even though his pace was assured and determined, Gaston’s slightly bowed head betrayed his contained nervousness. Now strong enough to use a crutch, his stride was still awkward and LeFou never trailed far from him, making sure Gaston wouldn’t fall and hurt himself more.

The townsfolk had wary looks. Though many didn’t forget and did appreciate Gaston’s heroic acts back in the day, the mess that had been created with the attack on the castle was fresh in their minds. They didn’t hate him per se—but they didn’t like him, either. Sadly, LeFou had come to wonder if they’d ever liked him at all. He’d guessed for a long time, but now the proof of it was displayed right before his eyes. 

As Gaston had mentioned weeks before, the fact that they hadn’t cared to look for him said enough. 

The townsfolk had respected Gaston; but respect and love were two very different things.

The effect of such a realization was apparent on Gaston’s features for anyone who looked hard enough: being deprived of the validation and praise he’d thrived on for all those years wasn’t easy, placing him in a situation he had no control over. The worst, perhaps, were the Bimbettes, who when crossing paths with Gaston, acted as though they’d never immensely fancied him, and stared up at his face in barely masked disappointment and disgust before averting their eyes. 

When they passed Belle’s old house—where Maurice still lived when he wasn’t visiting his daughter for a few days—on their way to the outskirts of the village, the look Gaston shot its way was enough of an indication to his internal struggle. LeFou could see his mind go through various stages of confusion, bitterness, resignation, and anger as clearly as if he was inside it. 

Though LeFou hoped it could be easier for Gaston to move on, he understood that it would take time. He couldn’t expect Gaston to change the mindset he’d lived in throughout his whole life over the course of a few weeks, even more so when each walk through the village was a bitter reminder of the mistakes he had made. 

They stopped dead in their tracks when the front door of Belle’s house opened, Maurice emerging from it. LeFou’s first instinct was to put a hand on Gaston’s arm, as much in warning as in reassurance. 

Maurice didn’t notice them until he stepped out of the small courtyard, and when he did, the small, content smile that had been on his face vanished. 

Gaston was incredibly tense under LeFou’s hand while Maurice’s gaze seemed to pierce through him. They hadn’t seen each other since Gaston had him thrown into the asylum cart. 

“Good morning, Maurice!” LeFou said cheerfully in an attempt to lighten the atmosphere, and Maurice briefly smiled his way in greeting before turning his attention back onto Gaston. LeFou found it impossible to guess what he was thinking, or what he was about to do. 

“Gaston,” Maurice eventually said, making LeFou’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise, though there was nothing friendly about his tone.

“Maurice,” Gaston replied, ever so tense. 

Maurice’s gaze trailed over Gaston’s face a while longer, lingering over the scars. 

“I hope you can tame all that anger and find some peace, Gaston,” he said, with a short nod of his head. “You need it.” 

Gaston opened his mouth to answer, but Maurice tipped his hat and headed over to Philippe, who he mounted before heading his way out of the village. They watched him go, Gaston’s expression one of utter confusion. 

A wise and good man, that Maurice, LeFou thought. To think many in the village, including himself, took him for being a bit crazy. Today he’d proven it yet again; many were those who wouldn’t have been so considerate towards the man who’d tried to kill them.

“I’m going home.” Gaston’s voice brought LeFou out of his thoughts. Looking up at him, LeFou saw nothing on his face but quiet determination. 

“But—” LeFou was given no time to protest; limping, Gaston had already turned away to take the road back home. Helpless, LeFou watched him go, unsure of what to do. He figured Gaston might need some time on his own to think on—everything, and if LeFou had to admit it to himself, he found he, too, needed to put some order in his ever busy thoughts. 

Therefore, LeFou didn’t see Gaston even once over the next five days which passed. When the sixth came, he considered going over to Gaston’s house anyway to check on him, having himself had a good rest and enough time to clear his head a bit. 

It was funny to think that, months earlier, LeFou wouldn’t have ever considered spending even a single day away from Gaston’s side. Since the mob, he’d found that he needed some time on his own, or with other people like Stanley, and it had been strangely therapeutic for him. If things were ever to go back to the way they were before, this would be one of the changes in his life he wished to make permanent. 

With midday rolling in, LeFou left his house on a particularly good mood, feeling invigorated after spending the past days catching up on sleep and treating himself, though as usual, he had thought much of the situation he and Gaston were in. 

He’d come to the conclusion that a considerable part of himself had already forgiven Gaston, but didn’t believe Gaston deserved to be forgiven, just yet. But, LeFou had hope—though Gaston perhaps didn’t realize it, he was making progress, even if LeFou feared that the progress was partly due to the shattering of a good portion of Gaston’s self confidence. 

With Gaston unable to find himself as beautiful as he once was (and so, as worthy of love,) and feeling the general heavy weight of the expectations the townsfolk had of him, he couldn’t be as self-absorbed as he used to be. His ego, as big as it was, had taken quite a blow, and LeFou had to admit that it often hurt to see Gaston looking so miserable, even more so when he pretended to be alright whenever he noticed LeFou looking his way. 

Knocking against Gaston’s door, LeFou waited a few minutes before opening the door, peeking his head through the threshold and calling out, “Gaston?”—all he got for answer was silence through the empty house, until Gaston’s cat Pantoufle trotted toward him, rubbing at his legs and purring loudly. 

LeFou bent down to give the cat a few scratches behind the ears and under the chin, before he gently pushed her back inside and closed the door. 

Turning back to the street, LeFou was met with a familiar face. 

“Monsieur Jean, have you seen Gaston?” LeFou asked the old man, who was passing by with his donkey and his son on the animal’s back.

“Ah, yes,” he said, like he’d been expecting the question. “He left the village early this morning. He didn’t have anything with him, so I guess he didn’t go very far.” Then, he added with a shrug, “Not like he _can_ go very far, if you ask me.”

LeFou quickly thanked him before scurrying down the streets. Stopping at the village’s main entrance, LeFou’s eyes went over the landscape in hopes of spotting Gaston, but found his attempt to be unsuccessful. 

It took a moment for LeFou to grasp the realization—it made sense, of course. Where else would Gaston have gone without anything to last him more than a day outside of town? Sighing to himself at the thought of the walk before him, LeFou circled town to find his way to the hill with the tallest peak which overlooked their home, but not before plucking two apples from a nearby tree. 

LeFou spotted him as soon as he strode his way over to the right side of the hill. 

On the grass next to a tree atop the hill, Gaston sat with one hand in his lap while he kept the other on the ground behind him to keep himself propped up, head turned to face LeFou’s direction, who couldn’t help but wonder how his friend had managed to climb up there in the state that he was still in, before remembering that he should know better than to underestimate Gaston’s determination. 

LeFou set up to climb the hill’s peak to where Gaston sat.

“What are you doing there?” Gaston asked as LeFou stopped not far from him, heaving out a breath of relief.

LeFou pitched one of the apples at him, which Gaston caught swiftly, setting it down next to him. “I could ask you the same question.”

“I wanted some air. I’ve been thinking a lot.”

“A dangerous pastime.”

“I know. You didn’t answer my question.”

“Was checking up on you.”

Gaston snorted. “You didn’t need to.”

Rolling his eyes, LeFou shrugged. “I wanted to.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re my best friend,” LeFou said matter-of-factly, sitting himself down next to him. “That’s what friends do.”

Gaston hummed, looking out towards the sky with a strange look upon his face. “I suppose,” he said, then later, broke the silence that had settled in, “Do you remember all the time we spent here together?”

With a nod, LeFou sighed. “Of course,” he breathed. “How could I not?”

“I kissed you here.”

Though LeFou’s breath caught in his throat, he protested cheekily, “You mean, _I_ kissed _you._ ” 

Gaston laughed a bit at that, lying down and putting his good arm behind his head as he heaved out a sigh of his own. LeFou shut his eyes for a moment. Gaston had never spoken of it—of them—since before the war, and if anything, LeFou had thought he didn’t even want to remember it—so, why did he keep bringing it up?

LeFou pinched the bridge of his nose, and when he opened his eyes again Gaston had straightened up, the leg with his bad hip stretched, the other almost folded under him. 

“For all these years you pretended it had never happened,” LeFou said quietly, his voice nonetheless assured. “You were so good at it that I wondered if you had outright forgotten about us.” 

Gaston’s answer wasn’t one LeFou could have expected, and it took him by surprise. 

“I wondered that for myself, too,” is what he said. “What I wonder more, though, is why you still haven’t left. Look at me, LeFou.” He gestured to his own face with a wince. “Death would have been a kinder fate.”

Ignoring, once again, how dramatic his friend was, LeFou nonetheless frowned at what Gaston implied. “Is that really the opinion you have of me?”

“I just know you’re too soft, LeFou,” he replied with a shrug. “People that I’ve hurt less than you despise me more than you do.”

“I don’t pity you, Gaston.”

“Thank God for that.” 

“Nor do I despise you.”

“And that’s the problem, isn’t it? I wish you did. You wish you did.”

“Since when are you so observant?”

“Since always, of course.”

LeFou snorted. Here was Gaston’s usual vanity, and as annoying as it could be, LeFou was also glad to see some of it back after weeks of brooding in self pity. And, as he smiled and shook his head in amusement, reminiscing many similar moments, LeFou realized he hadn’t been himself much lately, either. 

His head had been a mess, and despite the small, positive changes to his life since the curse had been broken, he still had much to deal with upon his shoulders. 

What did he truly want? From him, and from Gaston? If this had been a fairytale he would have been told to listen to his heart, to do whatever he felt was right. And LeFou was—he was doing what he felt was right, but the thoughts in his head wouldn’t leave him alone; they wouldn’t stop telling him that he was making a mistake. Something was missing for things to be _all right_ , and he didn’t know what it was. 

“Why can’t I stop loving you, Gaston?” LeFou asked in a hushed voice, which broke with how frustrated he was with himself. “Everyone’s saying I should have left you with your mess, and yet I can’t—I just can’t.”

“You’re a good man, that’s why,” Gaston said. “And I’m too loveable.” LeFou glared at him, and Gaston cleared his throat. “You’ve always wanted to help everyone, and I always said that’d be a problem someday.”

“Who knew you’d be the cause of that problem,” LeFou muttered. 

They fell into silence, LeFou absently tearing off grass while Gaston hummed a song, which LeFou found himself joining in on, though he stopped as soon as he realized what he was doing, which prompted Gaston to stop as well. 

“When I said I was sorry, I meant it. I really did.”

“I know,” LeFou whispered, and Gaston repeating it was yet another proof of it. He didn’t need to be convinced that Gaston wasn’t lying to get away with it, like he did weeks earlier when Gaston had first tried to voice his apologies.

“Then what more do you need from me?”

Strangely, that’s all it took for LeFou to stand as his eyes slightly widened in realization. He faced Gaston, who was looking up at him expectantly, his brows raised in confusion. LeFou paced to the tree and back, before pausing in front of Gaston, still sat on the ground and looking even more lost by the second, though he tried hard not to let it show on his face, without much success.

“I need—” LeFou took a deep breath. “I need to be sure that you won’t do it again,” he let out, and this time, his voice broke entirely. He turned away and closed his eyes, unwilling to meet whatever there was to see on Gaston’s face.

“I won’t.”

“They all say that, don’t they?” LeFou murmured, almost to himself, but loud enough to be heard. “Your parents to you, the other kids to me. They all said that.”

He didn’t hear Gaston standing up and getting behind him, but he did feel his hand on his shoulder. LeFou shivered, for it wasn’t a gesture of camaraderie, or accompanied with a good laugh and a joke. It was comforting, like it was sometimes before—

Before. 

“LeFou, listen to me.” Gaston’s voice was gentle in its authority. He didn’t use it often, being always direct no matter the emotional state of whoever he was talking to. LeFou hadn’t heard that voice in a long time, and it set a strange, melancholic feeling inside his chest. 

But LeFou just shook his head. 

Gaston’s hand squeezed his shoulder. He didn’t like speaking without making eye contact, but he didn’t say anything about it, and instead, he rubbed slow circles over LeFou’s clothes. It was more of a proper attempt at comfort than Gaston had ever displayed since the war. 

“I won’t forget what you did for me,” Gaston said. “You saved me.”

LeFou laughed, just a bit as his eyes remained fixated on the blades of grass and the small, flowering shrubs of summer. “Well, it wouldn’t have been the first time,” he said, referencing to the few chilling memories when they’d been soldiers; terrifying times, even, when he hadn’t been able to sleep at night, worrying that Gaston’s wounds would get infected, despite treating them in time, or himself suffering from an injury he’d taken in Gaston’s place. 

They had saved each other more times than he could ever count. Was this time really that different?

LeFou almost heard Gaston shaking his head, and his answer came like he’d read LeFou’s thoughts. “You had no reason to save me, this time.”

That made LeFou turn on his heels and look up at Gaston, his brows furrowed. He could hardly believe Gaston had just said such a thing; didn’t Gaston deserve saving, no matter what? 

“You really, _really_ are sorry, aren’t you?” LeFou asked, more to himself than to his friend. 

“Listen,” Gaston said, and now that he had LeFou’s full attention, he placed both of his hands on LeFou’s shoulders. LeFou stiffened a little, painfully reminiscing the last time he’d been in that position, but Gaston didn’t seem to notice. “I may not understand what I did that was so wrong about Belle and her Beast—”

“Prince.”

Gaston waved his hand in quick acknowledgement. “But I can—I can recognize I did _you_ wrong, and if I had just listened to you, this—” He gestured vaguely to his face, and LeFou couldn’t miss the flash of pain that passed through his eyes. “This wouldn’t have happened.”

“So this is about you, again.”

“No, no,” Gaston protested, grunting in self-annoyance at this inability to word his thoughts correctly. “Maybe a little, but that’s _not_ the point. The point is, I hurt you, I didn’t listen to you, and I paid the price.” He paused, before adding, more quietly. “In more ways than one.”

LeFou’s brow creased together. “More ways than one?”

“I lost your trust, and I almost lost you, too.”

LeFou gulped. He wanted to protest, his habit of always being on Gaston’s side still hard to shake off, but Gaston spoke the truth, and he couldn’t find it within himself to deny it. It was as sad as it was reassuring, in a way. LeFou thought he might cry at the fact that Gaston _did care_ about him after all, and that he wanted to make things right, though he clearly didn’t know how. 

Shaking off Gaston’s hold and making his way up to the tree to lean against it, LeFou bit back a smile. If only Gaston knew that what he’d done and said these past few weeks was just that; enough to show LeFou that he, perhaps, wasn’t making a mistake by giving Gaston another chance. 

“You’ve always been oblivious, Gaston, but this is getting ridiculous.”

Gaston frowned. “What do you mean?”

“You’re looking for a way to redeem yourself to me,” LeFou said, “but that’s exactly what you’re doing right now.”

Gaston’s frown only deepened. “What?”

“You’re being honest. You may have a long way to go when it comes to showing respect to Belle’s family—don’t make that face—but all the things you’ve told me recently, I know it’s more than you would ever have been willing to admit in the past. . . Before you say anything—no, it doesn’t mean that I’m not mad anymore.”

Gaston blinked uncertainly. He really was a fool—always had been. Slowly, he approached LeFou, stopping not too far from him; but close enough to reach out and touch. 

“That cannot be all it takes,” he said, suspiciously. 

“Being honest? Admitting you hurt a friend?” LeFou repeated. “It’s not always as easy as it sounds. Think about it. Was it for you?”

Gaston stared some more, while LeFou took a bite of his apple. He had the time to finish it and throw the trunk away before Gaston opened his mouth to answer, before closing it again, the answer yet already clear in his eyes. 

“No. Not at all,” he eventually said. “It’s still hard.”

“You see? It’s hard. Especially coming from you.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” LeFou quickly said. Someday, Gaston would understand, but today wasn’t that day—there was already much that had been said, and much that had yet to be considered, but they had all the time in the world for that. Someday, Gaston would look back, and he’d see it all differently. 

Gaston didn’t seem satisfied with LeFou’s answer, but he thankfully didn’t insist, and instead, took a step closer. 

LeFou’s eyes trailed over him. He seemed to be healing well; he leaned not as heavily on his crutch, his arm was mending exceptionally, and given the state of the injury to his face, there was little doubt the similar ones to his chest were all healed up, despite the scars they had formed. 

“A shame, isn’t it?” Gaston breathed, and LeFou’s heart clenched at how self-conscious he now was—very far from the Gaston he knew whose confidence in his looks and his abilities had been almost inspiring, ever since they were children. He hadn’t lost all of it, but it still hurt to see and hear it affecting him in such a way. 

Instead of repeating what he’d said weeks before, LeFou gently held up his hand. When he let his fingers trail the scars, Gaston first flinched, shying from LeFou’s touch until he was inevitably drawn back to it. 

“I know nothing I’ll say will ever make it right,” LeFou said, carefully. “But I do mean it, when I say it suits you strangely well.”

Gaston laughed at that, a sad chuckle that eventually lost all of its sorrow as he realized LeFou couldn’t be more serious. 

“Do you truly like it?”

“Oh, I do.” LeFou didn’t say that it made him sad, too, but Gaston didn’t need to know that. 

Slowly, Gaston gave a nod of his head, breathing in and out like LeFou had often made him do in the past, though, there didn’t seem to be any anger left within him. 

Before LeFou could withdraw it, Gaston suddenly caught his hand, and he took another step closer. 

“Earlier,” he said in a low voice which LeFou didn’t quite know how to interpret, “you said you couldn’t stop loving me.”

LeFou drew in a sharp breath. He _had_ said that, indeed. 

“I’ve always loved you, Gaston,” he replied. “I thought you knew that. I promised, remember?” Then, with more regret in his voice than he’d intended, “ _We_ promised.”

It wasn’t easy, to think of it—think of that time long gone when they’d been young and careless and they had both made a promise they’d believed couldn’t ever be broken. They lay on the grass of this same exact hill, and they swore that they would never leave each other. That vow was one they had always kept in spite of what life had thrown at them. 

But, they’d made another promise, too. One that, for a long time, LeFou remained unable to blame Gaston for breaking, for it had been Gaston’s father’s own doing; uncaring of the pain it had brought upon his son. LeFou had believed that the death of Gaston’s father on the day when the village had been attacked would put everything back into place, but it hadn’t. 

Instead, the war had come soon after, and Gaston had fallen deeper into the hole his family had dug for him, though it couldn’t be said that Gaston, in search of glory, hadn’t stepped into it unwillingly.

LeFou had lost the part of Gaston that loved him the same way he loved Gaston back then, and he had foolishly hoped he would one day get it back. 

Maybe not so foolishly, in the end. 

“That’s right,” Gaston said, and LeFou drew in a breath at the look on his face—a look he hadn’t seen for a long time. “We did.”

Before he knew it, Gaston’s lips had found his own in a quick, assured kiss, here, under this tree where LeFou had kissed him for the first time, all those years ago, when they were still innocent, unsure, and uncaring of what the future held for them apart from the wish to fulfill their dreams.

Then, Gaston took a step back, giving him one of his famous smiles before sitting back down on the grass and biting into the apple LeFou had brought for him. 

As short as the kiss they’d shared today had been, it felt very much like how it had felt back then; a promise of new beginnings and new hopes for their future, which this time, nothing could make them lose sight of again.

**Author's Note:**

> Now, I have huge, huge thanks to give to [Liz](http://archiveofourown.org/users/gastonsbiceps/) for the editing, because gosh. You guys don't want to know how long we spent correcting, fixing, rewording and touching up this fic... Alright, a whole day. Literally. So yes, the biggest thanks to you my friend, thank you for bearing with me and doing such a great job <33 
> 
> Don't forget to press the Kudos button if you enjoyed this! :D and please, please, comments mean an awful lot to me. ;w; Even a few words would make my day!! It's never too late and even a tiny one would be wonderful. Thank you so so much for reading, I hope you liked it!! <3
> 
> Fic aesthetic [here](http://barduil.tumblr.com/post/163596612688/reflection-gastonlefou-mostly-canon) if you want to share it! :3
> 
> Find me on Tumblr @ [evansluke](http://evansluke.tumblr.com) and/or [barduil](http://barduil.tumblr.com)!


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